


Anywhere You Go, I'll Be Right Behind You

by PositivePumpkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arm in Arm Walking Together, Did I mention fluff?, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Happy Ending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), It's Soft, Love at First Sight, Marriage Proposal, Meaningful Glances, Other, Romantic Fluff, Stressed Aziraphale (Good Omens), Stressed Crowley (Good Omens), abit of comedy thrown in, bit more proposal gone right, bit of proposal gone wrong, fuck this is so damn sweet, hand holding, not that they were ever Really enemies, this is the fluffiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: He might be going too fast again,  but at least if Aziraphale rejected him, the idea would be put in his head and he could try again in a few thousand years. And maybe, if he kept the ring, it would protect him.Or, Crowley tries to make the perfect proposal.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79
Collections: Oh Come All Ye Sinful! A Depraved Holiday Exchange 2019





	1. Love is a Twisting Serpent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mussimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mussimm/gifts).



> My part in the M25/IT gift exchange! This one goes out to Mussimm, who is such an amazing writer! I hope this is to your liking~
> 
> Prompt: Crowley plans and executes the perfect proposal. How well he pulls it off is up to the author.
> 
> Thanks to my lovely [beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrplekat1989/pseuds/purrplekat1989)!

_I gave it away!_

He stared at the ring in his hands, a black serpent with fire red belly wrapped thrice to form the band, cats’ eye citrines making up the eyes of the snake. It was tacky. Gaudy. Possessive. A mark for anyone that sees it to know he’s taken, possessed, owned. His angel would never be caught dead wearing something like this. 

And yet, Crowley had it forged just for him. 

The jewellery seller had told him all sorts of problems with the various black metals that could be used to forge such a ring, all of which Crowley promptly ignored. He liked the shine of black tungsten, sleek and modern like himself, and ordered it made. Once it arrived, it was perfect, just as Crowley expected it would be. 

Crowley then spent a significant amount of time pressing miracles into the serpent ring. _You will not scratch. You will not break. You will fit his finger, and only his finger. You cannot be removed unless he removes you. You will protect him. He will be safe with you. He will be loved._ And more, and more, and more. Little individual miracles and wishes and gifts formed into scales on the twisting serpent. With each individual scale, a miracle, until it was a powerful, although still quite demonic, artefact. 

When it was properly magicked, Crowley unwound the ring and pressed kisses of Hellfire into its belly. _You cannot hurt him. Should Heaven come looking for him, you will defend him. Protect him. Protect him. **Protect**. **Him**. _

With this final gift, the ring was complete. The black serpent coiled around into a band once more. Shiny black scales, fiery red belly, and golden yellow eyes. His mark, his aspect, made into jewellery for an angel. Now he just had to… to ask the question. Propose. The human ( _our own side’s_ ) way.

_You go too fast for me, Crowley._

Right… yea. _The question._ Unlike his first two proposals, this one was sure to go well. It wasn’t the end of the world, and this time he had properly prepared. It would be Perfect, unnecessary capitalization completely necessary in this case. 

Everything just had to go according to plan.

_Let me tempt you to… Oops. That’s your job, isn’t it?_

The plan was complicated, extravagant. Crowley had initially thought to dig deep into his powers and see about rearranging the stars to spell out, “will you marry me?” but that was quickly discarded as it’d do a lot more harm than good in the long run. And it had been so long since he had touched the stars, he’s not sure they’d even recognize him anymore. 

He thought about placing an extra page in a prophecy book, with the proposal in it, and gifting the book to Aziraphale. Although, Crowley wasn’t sure how long it would take to find, procure, and wait for Aziraphale to read and decipher each page. He wasn’t a patient demon, so that plan was out. Now that he had the ring, he wanted it on Aziraphale’s finger as soon as possible.

He could make Azirphale hot cocoa, with the marshmallows forming the words. Or, he could order a custom mug, with “will you marry me” written on the bottom, and he’d make Aziraphale’s cocoa, just how he liked it. When the angel finished and saw the words, Crowley would already be in position. Except… Aziraphale had a tendency to let his cocoa get cold without ever finishing it.

The trembling of terrified house plants caught his attention. It was an idea that had some merit, the plants were already plenty terrified of Crowley. They’d be easy to shape and scare into the shape he’d like. But none of his foliage was flowering, and it seemed a bit bland to propose with just twisting leaves and stems.

Crowley briefly thought about bringing the Bentley into it, but then, the car had a habit of getting carried away. A romantic song or two, could easily become something unrelenting. And Aziraphale didn’t like ‘bebop’ while the Bentley didn’t like their favourite music to be called ‘bebop.’ 

Ducks! He could train ducks to form the words! Well, that might be too much to ask on such short notice, though he certainly could try to put the fear of, well, _Crowley_ into them. Although, they’ve never feared him before. Perhaps just one duck, to deliver a note to Aziraphale, while Crowley used the distraction to kneel behind him.

_I don’t even like you._

Then, the fear that Aziraphale would reject him once more would pop up, and he’d pace himself into a mess of anxiety. Crowley was an optimist at heart, but he had to admit he didn’t have the best track record with the angel of his heart, or the demonic equivalent to a heart anyway. But Aziraphale chose him eventually, they were on their own side now. Not that… not that Aziraphale had _much_ of a choice. And did he really choose _Crowley_ or _humanity_?

It didn’t matter, Crowley decided. If he was rejected, then, perhaps he could try again in a few thousand years, assuming they were both still around then. He wasn’t concerned about it hurting their friendship, as Crowley simply wouldn’t let it. He’d had several thousand years of experience stamping down his feelings after all. And, anything Aziraphale was willing to give him would be enough.

_You know, Crowley, I’ve always said that, deep down, you are quite a nice—_

‘Operation: Marry the Angel of My Dreams, is a go!’ Crowley thought eagerly as the Bentley played Queen’s _You’re My Best Friend_. Racing through the morning city streets of London at a leisurely speed of 78mph, he tosses his head back and laughed, full of excitement. Today was going to be great, the first day of the rest of their lives.

Crowley turned the steering wheel sharply, careening into his designated parking spot right in front of the bookshop. He patted his shirt pocket, feeling to make sure the ring was still there. Of course, it wasn’t going to go anywhere, it knew better than to fall out. With a snap, the bookshop was opening for him, and he was walking inside, his precious car flashed its lights twice in encouragement.

“Angel!” Crowley called out, not entirely able to keep the joy out of his voice, “there’s a little French creperie I want to take you to. Best crepes outside of Paris, I’m told.” He also checked, not that he was going to admit it.

“Oh, that does sound delightful, my dear,” Aziraphale called down from upstairs. He leaned carefully over the railing and smiled down. Crowley answered with his own soppy smile, before he quickly schooled it back into an unaffected expression. “Although,” his angel adopted a coy smile, “I think you might think I enjoy food more than I actually do.”

Crowley barked out a surprised laugh, “whatever you say, Angel.” He watched as Aziraphale hustled down the steps, his haste contradicting his earlier statement. Aziraphale shrugged his jacket on and took Crowley’s offered arm. He covered his thrill at the contact as best he could, “what’re you thinking, sweet or savoury?”

“Well, you can’t go wrong with a good strawberry and cream,” the angel licked his lips, as he closed up the shop behind them. He took the offered hand as the demon helped him into the Bentley. Thankfully, he hadn’t noticed something was up, as Aziraphale’s mind was more focused on the thought of food.

Crowley hid his smile as much as he could, while he began the short drive to the creperie. He was driving a very sedate pace at a mere 50mph through central London, listening to the angel have a very one-sided discussion on the merits of sweet versus savoury foods for breakfast. Crowley relished in it, he could listen to Aziraphale talk for days, and in fact had on a few very rare occasions.

The crepes were a hit, Aziraphale was thoroughly enamoured with them. His face flushed with pleasure, cheeks puffed up with strawberries, and little happy noises signalled a very successful start to the day. As always, Crowley watched, soaking up the enjoyment vicariously through Aziraphale. He watched until Aziraphale dabbed delicately at his lips with the cloth napkin that the angel expected the creperie to have, so of course, it did.

Crowley smiled and procured the tickets he had in his inner pocket with a flourish, and waved them like a temptation, “I’ve got two tickets to Hamlet, at the Globe even.” It took some demonic intervention, a couple of suggestions here and there, and he got a pair of choice seats to show for it.

“Oh, that does bring me back,” Aziraphale honest-to-G-Sa-Someone wiggled in his seat. “Do you think they’ll have grapes like last time?” They would, Crowley made sure of it, only the juiciest, plumpest of grapes for his angel. He of course _had_ prepared extensively. 

“It’s possible,” Crowley smirked, before he forced himself to lean back and out of the gravity well that was Aziraphale, always sucking him in. He affected a more casual sprawl, before laying out some of his plans for the day, “It’s not until after lunch, of course. Figured, we could take a walk around London, if you like.” It was said casually enough, as if he wasn't concerned with what they did, despite this absolutely not being the case.

“Well, it is a rather nice day,” Aziraphale said, looking down at his lap with a private sort of smile, before fluttering his lashes as he looked back up at Crowley. The demon had half a mind to get down on his knee right then and there—No! He had a plan, and he was going to stick to it. “Perhaps some light exercise would do us good. Oh! But what about your beloved car?”

Crowley would’ve normally snarled and hissed and spit at the implication that he, a proud member of the damned, could possibly love anything. But not today. Today the love that had been shoved aside and held back as much as it possibly could, was near bursting out his chest. Like something from a horror movie, except Crowley wanted to hug all of Aziraphale, not just his face. “The Bentley will be fine, no need to fret,” still, he meant to growl, not let it come out so soft.

When Aziraphale reached to pull out his wallet, Crowley stopped him with a lazy wave of his hand, “no need Angel, my treat.” He raised his black card up, just as one of the employees came by to see if they needed anything. It wasn’t technically that kind of restaurant, where one is served, not that either ethereal or occult entity realized that. Still, the woman was happy to help, finding an uncharacteristic joy in her heart at seeing two people so clearly in love, even if they were customers.

Once the bill was paid, Crowley offered his arm once more. This time Aziraphale pressed against his entire side. It nearly short-circuited his brain, having all that plush, angelic warmth pressed against him. Crowley sent a brief glare to his own legs, making sure they’d not do anything ridiculous like cause him to trip or stumble.

Crowley led Aziraphale around London. Of course, this was their home for quite some time, so they’d seen a lot of London already. Crowley had moved in shortly after Aziraphale finished setting up his shop, under the guise of keeping his enemy close. As far as Crowley was concerned, Aziraphale had never been his enemy, not truly.

There was of course, an end goal. Crowley had, much to Aziraphale’s notable surprise, led them to a church. Its location was familiar, although nothing else about it was. “You can go in, if you like. Don’t suppose you recognize it?”

“Should I?” Aziraphale questioned, he hadn’t moved though, not even to remove his arm from Crowley’s. He was frowning now, and Crowley realized he might’ve given off the wrong impression. _Sitting in the Bentley, a sudden holy presence next to him, and the heartbroken expression of his angel as he handed over a tartan thermos._

“The Blitz? That stray church that got bombed, thanks to a little demonic intervention by yours truly, it was rebuilt. S’not the same, not that I’ve been inside, still consecrated ground that is.” Now Crowley was anxious, just remembering the sting on his feet had him shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s soft exclamation had him whipping his head over to look. There was quite a noticeable blush on the angel’s cheeks, making him look positively cherubic. “You know, I never thought to wonder what happened to it after… well, after everything.”

“Neither did I,” Crowley swallowed, throat suddenly very dry. “Chalked it up as a victory for Hell, blowing up a church, that is. No one even cared that the only people that died were Nazis. Souls already bound to Hell, and all that.”

“Well, I’m still very grateful that you thought to save my books, when even I hadn’t,” there was a bit of wetness in Aziraphale’s eyes. Salt-water collected on his lashes like drops of morning dew on leaves. “It meant quite a lot, you know,” he squeezed Crowley’s arm tightly. There was a church right there, surely, he should get on his knee right now and—No! The. _Plan!_

“Hng,” Crowley started, then tried again, “nrk.” He swallowed and opened his mouth once more, “guh.” Nope, this wasn’t working. Crowley scrubbed a hand over his eyes, before breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Course, Angel,” his voice was a bit hoarse, “course I saved the blasted books, never would’ve heard the end of it if I hadn’t.”

Aziraphale hummed knowingly, which wasn’t fair, the bastard! Crowley looked away to regain whatever dignity he could. Aziraphale then began leading them away, towards their favourite park, which was fine. It’s where Crowley was going to take them next.

They walked together, Aziraphale occasionally leaning further into Crowley to avoid bumping into other pedestrians, although they normally gave the otherworldly creatures a wide berth. The “Fuck Off” aura normally surrounding them was turned off for the moment. It certainly wasn’t so every time someone passed them by, Crowley could gently pull Aziraphale against him. At least, Crowley wouldn’t ever admit that was the reason.

Crowley led them to the lake, ducks already swarming and snapping at each other to get a good spot in front of the ancient beings. The ducks knew them well, which made sense considering they’d been coming here for centuries. Aziraphale pulled a small bag of seeds out from his pocket, which Crowley was sure hadn’t been there a second ago.

They stayed there, at the same place where he asked for the Holy Water, for a couple hours. In a comfortable silence only interrupted by other people’s conversations and the squabble of ducks. Occasionally Crowley would reach into the seed bag and toss a handful of seeds farther away, just to watch them swarm.

As the sun rose to its zenith, Aziraphale put the seed bag away, back to wherever he pulled it from. “You mentioned lunch?” His angel tugged on his arm, looking up at him with an excited smile. “Did you have something in mind? Or should we just go to the café?”

“Café sounds fine,” Crowley turned them around to begin the short walk over. Admittedly, the café had also been a part of his plan. They’d been there once or twice before, Crowley liked the fish and chips, although he’d usually only nibble bits from Aziraphale’s plate. Which is exactly what happened this time as well.

Aziraphale ordered the beer-battered fish and chips, Crowley paid with his sleek black card, and they took their food to the bench that had been more or less claimed by them. It certainly had a habit of being empty of people whenever they were nearby. Crowley held the plate of food for them, as Aziraphale had surprisingly refused to remove the arm around his.

It was painfully sweet. Crowley wanted to squirm away and curl up against Aziraphale at the same time. Crowley nearly combusted when Aziraphale offered a chip for him to eat, straight from the angel’s hand. He was a demon, not meant to be fed like this, like he was some kept pet. He ate the fry anyways, unable to resist the temptation. Aziraphale flushed beautifully, causing Crowley to swallow the bite without chewing.

Lunch passed quickly, Aziraphale occasionally feeding bites to Crowley and eating the lion’s share himself, not that Crowley ever minded. Reluctantly Crowley separated from Aziraphale’s grasp and threw their rubbish away. His angel trailed behind him, twisting his ring on his pinkie finger nervously, “when was the show, my dear? I’d hate to miss it.”

“Soon, we can take the Bentley there, find our seats, grab some snacks,” Crowley led the way to where miraculously, the Bentley was parked. It was less a miracle, and more sentience granted to an object well-loved and taken care of by an infernal entity. The Bentley would be there when Crowley needed it, whenever he needed it.

“Oh, what a marvellous car,” Aziraphale praised, running a delicate hand over the bonnet. Crowley prickled reflexively at the praise, before relaxing once more as the Bentley obligingly opened its doors for Aziraphale. The Bentley loved Crowley, and typically only tolerated Aziraphale, although they understood Aziraphale was _also_ loved by Crowley.

Aziraphale climbed on in, charmed by the Bentley’s good behaviour. While he was distracted, Crowley absently pat his shirt pocket, checking once more to make sure the ring was still there. It of course was, as it still knew better than to disappear. Reassured, Crowley climbed in and began the drive over to the Globe.

Aziraphale was wiggling in his seat and excitedly talking about Hamlet, and all the other plays he’d been to, some with Crowley, most without. Crowley still maintained that he preferred the funny ones, and he said as such just to see Aziraphale’s pout. They arrived shortly, as it wasn’t a far ride to the Globe from St. James, Crowley of course parked in a spot that was quite illegal to park in.

He handed the tickets to Aziraphale, told him to find their seats, just barely resisted the temptation to press a kiss to his hair, and left to go get snacks. Things were going perfectly so far. A little trip down memory lane was just the thing to lead up to The Proposal. Crowley pulled the ring out of his shirt pocket and twirled it in his fingers a couple of times, excitement mounting.

He put it away as his turn to order food and drinks came up. They had a rather unusual selection today, per Crowley’s demonic influence, several varieties of rather nice wines; grapes, oranges, and pears; as well as their standard fare. Crowley put an order in to be picked up during the intermission, before joining Aziraphale in the theatre.

Aziraphale waved him over and patted the seat next to him, smiling so bright he might actually be shining. Crowley sat down and nearly jumped out of his corporation when Aziraphale laid his hand on the demon’s thigh. He moved his hand palm up, an open invitation if Crowley had ever seen one.

They spent the whole first half hand in hand. Crowley hadn’t seen any bit of the play, he’d been too busy staring at their intwined hands, and occasionally looking at Aziraphale’s enraptured face. When the break came up, Crowley led them to the concession stands to pick up their order. The look on Aziraphale’s face when he saw the fruit array was worth every bit of time spent chiding and cajoling the sellers into offering them.

After the second half, Aziraphale was happily chattering about the actors and the play. It was quite soothing listening to him complain about things misconstrued or taken out of context. Crowley led him out of the theatre and opened the door to the Bentley for him, positively doting on Aziraphale. The angel didn’t even notice the speed at which they were driving, so caught up in his rambling tirade. Crowley could only smile and offer an occasional reply, just enough to keep Aziraphale going.

Crowley opened the door once more, and only now was Aziraphale noticing where they were. “The Ritz?” He looked up at Crowley in awe, “my dear, is something up? This has been quite a treat so far, but if this is some kind of day, an anniversary or a holiday, or something like, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue.”

“S’no anniversary Angel,” not yet, though Crowley didn’t say that last part aloud, “and it’s no holiday. I just, felt like taking you out and about.” He kicked the ground with the toe of his snake-skin boot, “is it… too much? We could go back to the shop if you like.”

“Perish the thought!” Aziraphale huffed, “of course we’re eating here, though it is a little early for dinner.” Not that it would really stop Aziraphale from indulging. They didn’t need to eat after all, and as such they could decide whether to be full or not.

“Good,” Crowley led Aziraphale past the doors and into their standing reservation table. As they arrived the sommelier brought out the wine Crowley had already selected and prepared for them. “I imagine we’ll be here a while, Angel.” He winked cheekily, even though he wasn’t sure Aziraphale could see it behind his shades.

“Oh? And why’s that, my dear?” Aziraphale eagerly sat down and wiggled in his seat, thanking the sommelier before taking a sip of his chilled wine. “Oh,” a pleased smile, “this is a lovely vintage. How much of this did you prepare? I’m feeling positively spoiled today.”

“I might have had a word or two with some of the staff here, arranged a couple things here and there,” Crowley waved a lazy hand dismissively, sitting both next to, and across from Aziraphale in a lazy, haphazard manner. “Just felt like it is all, had a special menu prepared for us today.”

“And if I had said I wanted to go back to the shop?” Aziraphale had no intention of going home, which Crowley and Aziraphale both well knew. Still, the angel raised his eyebrow, properly curious.

“We would’ve gone back to the shop,” Crowley shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal if all his hard work had gone to waste. It would’ve hurt, but it’s not like Aziraphale knew what Crowley’s endgame was. And he could always try again another day.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gave him the soppiest smile, eyes watering once more. “Well, no need for that, I am quite excited to get to this special menu.” He certainly looked it too with the pleased flush on face and the smile he couldn’t contain.

Shortly after their arrival, in fact a much shorter wait than anyone else received, their waiter was out delivering the first course. Oysters. The recipe would have been lost to time, if Crowley hadn’t gotten the recipe from Petronius himself. Crowley could see the moment Aziraphale realized, face going from a raised eyebrow and smirk to a shocked expression as the first bit of shellfish entered his mouth.

“Is this…?” Aziraphale said it so softly, that if it weren’t for the fact that Crowley is a demon, he might not have heard him. At Crowley’s smug smile and knowing nod, Aziraphale shakily reached for another oyster. And another. Until they formed a small pile of empty shells and a waiter was clearing away the plates. Aziraphale looked stunned still as he asked, “how?”

“I had asked for the recipe, back in… oh, 41 was it?” The Crowley from then hadn’t known he’d need it for this day, but the Crowley of today was thankful, nonetheless. He hadn’t eaten more than one of the oysters in Rome, deciding he didn’t like the feel of it in his mouth, so it would’ve been impossible for him to remember what all went in it so many years later. As it stood, it had taken quite some time to decipher the old recipe card.

“Yes, 41 AD,” Aziraphale was still looking at him with the soppiest expression. Crowley was tempted to start hissing and telling him off for being so blessedly soft, but they didn’t have to do that anymore. “You never did care for them, did you?” Aziraphale laughed, remembering the disgusted face Crowley had made the first time he swallowed an oyster.

“Sssslimy,” the hiss came out without his say-so, but it didn’t matter as Aziraphale just laughed harder. They talked some more about the old days of Rome. Neither was quite sure where Nero ended up, if he was responsible for the great fire of Rome, or if it was something else. They talked about Caligula briefly, Crowley not eager to revisit that asshole, quite sure he was in Hell now.

The sommelier came around and topped off their wine just as the next course was being put in front of them. This time it was devilled eggs. Perhaps not the best thing to follow-up oysters, but they didn’t need to worry about tummy upsets, so it was a nonstarter.

Aziraphale hummed and wiggled in his seat once more, before taking a fork and delicately having a bite. He closed his eyes and savoured his favourite food. Once he finished his first egg, he turned back to Crowley, who like always, was leaning forward watching him eat, “you remembered my favourite food. Although, I suppose a devil like you would.”

“Course,” Crowley shrugged once more. “A devilled egg, courtesy of a devil.” This time he lowered his glasses to make sure Aziraphale could see the wink. This time Aziraphale took his time. It might have seemed contrary, that he’d savour the dish he could have whenever, versus the one he hadn’t had in just under two thousand years, but that was just Aziraphale. A rather unusual angel.

This time they talked about what they’d been up in the past couple of days. Crowley of course left out all the preparation he’d been doing, including the forging of the ring burning warm in his inner shirt pocket. Crowley loved their discussions the most, that after six thousand years, they still had so much to talk about.

The next course was the dessert course, one that always had Aziraphale doing his excitement wiggle. Crowley, however, was growing more and more apprehensive. This was going to be the touchiest part of the night, excepting The Proposal.

The waiter brought out a small covered tray, set it down directly in front of Aziraphale, and opened it. A single apple rose sat in a small plate in the centre. Aziraphale was stunned speechless.

“You don’t have to eat it, if you don’t want to,” Crowley was quick to clear up, “I know you don’t eat apples, and I suspect I know why, so if you don’t want to eat it, that’s fine.” He might’ve gotten a bit rambley at the end.

Aziraphale gently picked up the apple rose and examined it carefully. “What did you say to Eve? When you tempted her with the apple?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” While Aziraphale was examining the apple treat, Crowley was examining Aziraphale for signs of discomfort.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said breathily, before adding as an afterthought, “please.”

“Eve thought that if she ate from the apple, that she would die,” Crowley explained, “and I told her, ‘You will not die, for God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’”

“Eat from it and my eyes will be opened,” Aziraphale mused, before taking a rather healthy bite of the apple rose. His eyes, instead of opening, fluttered closed as he tasted the cinnamon and sugar mixing delightfully with the tart of the baked apple. He hummed in appreciation and continued with slow and more delicate bites of the pastry until he was licking the powdered sugar off his fingers.

Crowley was completely gobsmacked. He could feel his glasses sliding dangerously down his nose but couldn’t generate the brain power to do anything about it. He could only watch as Aziraphale ate his first apple dish in his long history. He wasn’t breathing, not wanting anything to interrupt the view in front of him, not even his own corporation’s needs.

He was still reeling well after Aziraphale finished and began fishing something out of his pocket. Any words had long left Crowley, so he could only stare as a tartan box appeared in Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale was saying something, distantly Crowley was aware of this fact, but his entire world had narrowed to just that… box. It was a _ring_ box. He looked up just in time to catch the tail end of Aziraphale’s words, “…would you do me the honour, of marrying me? The human way?”

An error noise was playing in his head as he sputtered and flushed and immediately made things worse, “No!”

His hands were going every which way as he quickly tried to recover, as Aziraphale’s face fell and he began hunching in on himself, “wait! Angel, that’s not what I meant, yes, yes of course I’ll marry you, I-I just,” he fumbled for his pocket and nearly dropped the ring several times as he lamely offered it to Aziraphale. “I was going to ask you, after dinner, I… I was going to take you to the Botanic Gardens and propose in the closest place I could find to Eden. I-I had this all planned out and you,” he flushed, bright red, trailing down his neck and up his ears, “you beat me to it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face was quite surprised, his mouth in a little ‘o’ before he smiled so joyous and stood up, to pull Crowley into a tight embrace. He jumped as the other patrons at the Ritz, and a good portion of the staff, began clapping and hollering. Now his face was flushed just as much as Crowley’s was, when he slid the ring on a slim finger. “If you like, we can still go, and you can propose to me just as you wished.”

“No, no, I,” Crowley swallowed, staring at his finger before he shook himself out of it and took Aziraphale’s hand to place his ring on a much plumper finger. “I think I’d rather go home-er, to the shop rather.”

“My dear, of course we can go home,” Aziraphale leaned in close, his nose brushing Crowley’s, “I believe this is the part where you—"

He was cut off as the demon surged forward for the kiss of several lifetimes.

_To the world._


	2. Love is a Soft Wing Overhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all Aziraphale's POV as a bit of a bonus~

_Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?_

He flipped the ring in his hand. He briefly thought to using his own pinkie ring, it had been with him for quite some time, _before_ time even. Yet, it seemed sort of cheap, in a way. The ring itself was from Heaven, and while giving Crowley a piece of Heaven did have its merits, Aziraphale wanted this to be something special, something created just for his dear, sweet demon. 

And so, he had a ring crafted. 

Crowley had asked once… twice? already. Would he still be amenable to becoming entwined the human ( _our own side’s_ ) way? Oh, but Aziraphale had said such cruel things to Crowley. Always pushing him away… and yet, Crowley always did come back. Such a loyal creature. How could Aziraphale prove worthy of such devotion? 

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to appeal to the demon’s vanity first. So, a thick band of pale gold then, with inset room for a piece of his Grace, glowing bright and silver, with a faint blue sheen. He wrapped his Grace around the band, checking that the gold would protect the demon from direct contact. The end result was a lovely band of blue-silver, framed with pale gold, but it was still quite… bland. Well, he had just the thing, a pearl, saved from their time in Rome, 41 A.D.. His Grace eagerly accepted it, forming into a bevel to hold the ancient gem. 

It was hardly Crowley’s style, instead more his own, especially with the Grace marking the wearer as his. Still too plain though, Aziraphale mused, idly rubbing wing patterns into the material with his thumbs. Too much? It might be a touch… possessive. Or Crowley might think it gaudy? Tacky? He kissed a powerful blessing into the ring and kept a bit of hope in his heart that his dear, old, wily serpent would accept it. 

It was _his_ grace, so it didn’t need to be told, but Aziraphale found himself talking to the ring regardless. “You’ll protect him, of course, if Hell comes for him. And should he ever need my help, well, you’ll lead me to him. Ah, don’t let me catch you on any finger aside from his! I daresay I love the old boy, and since you’re a part of me, you must do too.” Now, he just had to ask the question. 

_And, when I'm off in the stars, I, I won't even think about you!_

Now how was he going to propose? Something flashy like his demon? Or private like himself? Perhaps start with dinner? At the Ritz, just like he promised so few years ago. His heart began hammering and his face flushed. Was he moving too fast? Aziraphale didn't care, the rush of freedom to love his dear friend openly was exhilarating, it made him feel carefree.

No need for a plan then, it was time for action!

_Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you. Where are you?_

He was going be spontaneous. Crowley always invited him out, so he’d invite Crowley this time. But what to invite him to? It was going to be a lovely day outside, although for now it was still dark in the early morning hours. The days were likely to remain nice, Aziraphale suspected. Perfect at least, until and if, he could get up the nerve.

How did Crowley always make it look so easy? The dashing demon could just waltz in a room and sweep Aziraphale off his feet with nary a word. He would just show up and wave a pair of tickets or show Aziraphale a new menu, and Aziraphale couldn’t say no. It was- oh. Aziraphale covered his face with his hands, even though there was no one here to hide from.

It had been unbecoming of an angel, once upon a time. But now, now they were free, and it left his heart pounding and his temple sweating. Finally, Aziraphale could let loose all the little impulses he’d had over their many, many years together. Perhaps, if he was feeling particularly brave, he might try reaching for Crowley’s arm, or hand.

It was overwhelming.

All his thoughts were swarming and buzzing like thousands of new-born angels fluttering their downy wings in his brain. Aziraphale could take Crowley to the park, St. James, _their_ park. They’d been meeting there long before any secret agents had. He peeked out from behind his fingers, taking in the sunlight beginning to dapple across the books in his shop. It was a nice day for it.

Or he could take Crowley out to the Ritz for a lovely candlelit dinner, with piano, and champagne. Maybe try their _apple tarte bourdaloue_! Ever since the garden, the Original Garden, Eden, Aziraphale had avoided anything to do with apples. It was, perhaps a futile endeavour, as he had been trying to avoid _temptation_ whilst being friends with the Original Tempter.

A denial he no longer needed to sustain.

_I don’t need you._

Unless… unless he was mistaken. All those times he refuted Crowley, denied having any relationship over, and over, and over again and again until—. Aziraphale shuddered, before began pacing about the shop, picking up books and placing them in new places, and fiddling with his pinkie ring. Still, Crowley always came back to him.

If this ruined things, would Crowley come back around this time as well? Surely. He came back after their spat in Mesopotamia, and after their tiff in West Essex, and after the, erm, Holy Water argument, and again and again at the End of the World. Could Aziraphale count on that forever?

_You’re an angel. I don’t think you **can** do the wrong thing._

The door downstairs opened, snapping Aziraphale from his daze. The store wasn’t open yet, so that could only be—yes! He hastily hid the ring box, tastefully tartan, in his pocket. He pat once, twice, to make sure there was no telling bulge as he walked over to the railing.

“Angel!” Crowley called out, sounding quite pleased with himself, “There’s a little French creperie I want to take you to. Best crepes outside of Paris, I’m told.” The bookshop welcomed him in, as it always had, and always would.

Well now! That certainly did sound delightful, and he said as much, “oh, that does sound delightful my dear.” He leaned over the railing, smiling at the darling sight of Crowley. Something good must’ve happened, he was practically shining with joy, even if he did try to hide it. “Although,” he had to stifle a giggle, “I think you might think I enjoy food more than I actually do.”

It had the desired effect, as Crowley threw his head back and laughed, “whatever you say, Angel.” He was still smiling as Aziraphale hurried down the steps and eagerly put on his jacket. He took Crowley’s offered arm. _How bold_ , he thought with only the barest of flush on his cheeks. “What’re you thinking, sweet or savoury?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t thinking about much other than the feel of Crowley’s arm. “Well, you can’t go wrong with a good strawberry and cream,” he licked his lips, suddenly feeling quite dry. He nearly fumbled the keys locking up the shop, not that it was strictly necessary, nobody would be able to even think about entering his shop while he wasn’t there tending it. Too soon, Crowley’s arm was taken away, only to be replaced with his hand as he helped Aziraphale into the Bentley. _Such a gentledemon!_

Aziraphale regaled Crowley on the merits of sweet versus savoury foods for breakfast. One of the many things he loved about Crowley, was that he could ramble to his heart’s content and the entire time Crowley would listen. While he was still driving much too fast for central London, Crowley _had_ noticeably slowed down. The thought of his demon doing this for him, it sent his heart racing once more.

At the creperie, he was delighted to find that the savoury crepes were quite delicious. He had a ham, egg, and swiss crepe with spinach and garlic. It was quite scrummy, although he didn’t think anything would beat the crepes he had in Paris, just after Crowley swooped in and made a rather dashing rescue. But that might have been due to the memorable events, rather than how good the food actually tasted.

He ended up eating Crowley’s strawberry and cream crepe as well. The demon had taken no more than a small nibble, before moving the plate to Aziraphale’s side of the table. It was quite endearing how he always did this. Aziraphale dabbed at his lips as Crowley brought out two theatre tickets, “I’ve got two tickets to Hamlet, at the Globe even.”

“Oh, that does bring me back,” Aziraphale wiggled excitedly, he hadn’t actually watched Hamlet since he’d returned from Edinburgh and saw what a hit it was, before watching one evening with Crowley. “Do you think they’ll have grapes like last time?” It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t, but something about spending so much time with Crowley always made his mouth dry.

“It’s possible,” Crowley smirked, which of course meant there would be grapes there, if they hadn’t already been on menu, they would be now. Crowley leaned back, the lazy serpent, sprawling every which way, “It’s not until after lunch, of course. Figured we could take a walk around London, if you like.”

“Well, it is a rather nice day,” a thought he’d had several times already today. Perhaps a walk would fortify his courage to propose. He looked up at Crowley, “Perhaps some light exercise would do us good. Oh! But what about your beloved car?”

Surprisingly, the phrase didn’t send Crowley into a hissy fit. Normally Crowley would be a raging ball of limbs that he never quite got the hang of and swearing up and down he didn’t love anything. It would have been a complete lie anyways, Aziraphale could feel the love he had for the Bentley. “The Bentley will be fine, no need to fret,” Crowley smiled softly.

He reached to pull out his wallet, but as always Crowley stopped him and offered his card to the waitress. “No need Angel, my treat,” Crowley was always taking care of him. It caused a burst of affection in his chest, as several minor blessings fell onto the staff and other patrons.

Crowley offered his arm once more and Aziraphale nearly fell to his knee right there, but it hadn’t quite… felt right. Feeling bold, he pressed himself against the demon, delighting in the surprising warmth the other being radiated. His knees felt weak, but with his arm wrapped around the demon’s, he had all the support he needed.

Crowley led them around London, most of which he had seen before. This was his home after all, and he’d lived here so long that he’d been around the block once or twice. Once Crowley moved into London, he could tell upstairs that he was staying here to keep his enemy close, not that Crowley had ever been his enemy.

He was surprised when Crowley stopped, dragging them both to a standstill. In front of them, was a church. A cold chill ran through his spine. Aziraphale glanced at the demon, not wanting to jump to conclusions too quickly.

“You can go in, if you like,” Crowley’s eyebrow raised, “Don’t suppose you recognize it?” He didn’t. Was he supposed to?

“Should I?” He wasn’t planning on going inside and leaving Crowley out here to stand and wait. Aziraphale didn’t really make a point to going inside churches anyways.

“The Blitz? That stray church that got bombed, thanks to a little demonic intervention by yours truly, it was rebuilt,” Crowley explained. _Oh_. He remembered, a dashing debonair demon dancing down the aisle, saving him once again, even despite their earlier fight. “S’not the same, not that I’ve been inside, still consecrated ground that is.” Yet he’d traversed it for an angel.

“Oh,” was all he could say at first. The memories, the _books_. He was sure to be blushing, judging by the warmth on his cheeks. “You know, I never thought to wonder what happened to it after… well, after everything.”

“Neither did I,” Crowley swallowed, his voice slightly dry and hoarse, “chalked it as a victory for Hell, blowing up a church, that is. No one even cared that the only people that died were Nazis. Souls already bound to Hell, and all that.”

“Well, I’m still very grateful that you thought to save my books, when even I hadn’t,” Aziraphale admitted, getting a bit choked up, even after all these years. “It meant quite a lot, you know,” he squeezed Crowley’s arm. He had been so focused on saving Crowley, diverting the destructive power so it didn’t so much as knock the hat off Crowley’s head.

“Hng,” A noise escaped Crowley’s throat, before he tried again, “nrk.” The poor dear must’ve really been thrown for a loop. “Guh.” Crowley never really did handle thanks or praise all that well. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and figured out what he was going to say, “course, Angel.” His voice was still hoarse, “course I saved the blasted books, never would’ve heard the end of it if I hadn’t.”

Aziraphale hummed, Crowley could say what he wanted, but he knew that it was done out of a sense of Love. It was the first time he’d sensed it from the demon, a burst so bright he’d been stunned for a moment after receiving the bag of books.

Making a split-second decision, Aziraphale began leading Crowley to their park, St. James. On the way there, Crowley would occasionally pull him closer to avoid other pedestrians. His “Notice-Me-Not” aura had been discarded for the moment, solely so he could feel Crowley pull him close.

Eventually Crowley took the lead again, as was his want. They stopped at the railing protecting the lake, the very same spot where some years prior, Crowley handed him a note that made his heart stop. Aziraphale pulled out a bag of seeds, lifted through space from a dusty shelf in his little kitchenette at the bookshop.

Crowley thankfully didn’t try to sink any ducks or aim directly for their throat when tossing seeds. Instead he spent his mischievous energy on sending the ducks swarming to other parts of the lake. It was nice, spending the morning hours just standing next to each other and feeding the ducks and occasional swan.

Around noon, Aziraphale put the seed bag back through space into his kitchenette. He dusted any remaining seed dust off into the lake and turned to Crowley, tugging on his arm, “you mentioned lunch?” He couldn’t help the smile, “did you have something in mind? Or should we just go to the café?”

“Café sounds fine,” Crowley immediately began leading the way once more. Crowley had always liked nibbling at the fish and chips from the St. James Café. Aziraphale made sure to order it, just so Crowley could have a few bites, even though he’d be the one eating the majority.

While Crowley paid, Aziraphale made the decision to not let go of him. It was a bit improper, especially out in public, but he’d spent so long denying himself this, a few more moments wouldn’t hurt. They sat together on their bench, which of course was empty as it waited for their arrival. Crowley dutifully held the plate of food while Aziraphale plucked fried fish flakes out.

Like always, Crowley watched him eat attentively. He had been doing it so long now, Aziraphale stopped being discomfited by it. He picked up a chip and steeled himself and offered the chip to Crowley’s mouth. Crowley’s eyes widened enough to be obvious even behind those dark shades, but he opened his mouth and leaned forward enough to take the offered food from Aziraphale’s hand.

 _Oh, Dear Lord!_ Aziraphale could feel the heat spreading all over his face. It had been his idea, but he wasn’t expecting! He forced himself to keep eating, instead of solely feeding Crowley. He kept offering choice bits of fish and particularly crispy chips to the demon, determined to give him only the best pieces.

When the plate was empty, Crowley went to throw it away, leaving Aziraphale suddenly cold without the demon pressed against him. With his back turned, Aziraphale absently touched the tartan ring box in his pocket. Would now be a good time? He jerked his arm out and began fiddling with his pinkie ring. He didin’t think Crowley noticed, but just in case he began distracting, “when was the show, my dear? I’d hate to miss it.”

“Soon, we can take the Bentley there, find our seats, grab some snacks,” Crowley began walking and as Aziraphale followed, he saw the Bentley parked right in front of the path. Certainly not a legal parking spot, but nothing would keep the car from Crowley.

“Oh, what a marvellous car,” Aziraphale gently touched the bonnet, knowing that the car greatly preferred Crowley over himself. Which was quite fine by the angel, as he felt much the same way. Still, the car opened its door in offering, which was much politer than they usually were.

On the way there, Aziraphale pointedly didn’t look at the rushing scenery outside the car or the speedometer. Instead he focused on discussing Hamlet, to which Crowley still maintained the funny ones were better. Aziraphale had to pout at that, because while everyone had their preferences, he still didn’t understand why Crowley of all people preferred the funny ones. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t a stereotypical demon.

Once there, Crowley parked illegally once more, and handed off the tickets. As Aziraphale found their seats, he reached back into his pocket to look at the ring. This day was going so nicely, perhaps at the end of the play he should propose. Someone else walked in and Aziraphale quickly hid the ring once more. It wasn’t his wily serpent, but still, he didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Today had been amazing, first the crepes and then finding out whatever happened to the church, and of course St. James. Now Hamlet? It’s almost as if Crowley were replaying their greatest hits as it were, or at least, some of their most influential times together. What _was_ Crowley playing at?

Once Crowley arrived and sat down next to him, he bit his lip, and placed his hand on Crowley’s thigh. The poor demon nearly shrieked and would likely deny he even made a noise at all. Feeling yet another rush of affection, Aziraphale flipped his hand over, delighting when Crowley obliged him and laced their fingers together.

The first half was spent hand in hand, breaking only during the intermission to snack on food. Crowley had ordered a whole fruit array for him. Plump juicy grapes, delightfully sour oranges, and the sweetest pears. Aziraphale knew full well that this wasn’t usual Globe Theatre fare, that Crowley must’ve used a demonic miracle for this. Aziraphale’s heart swelled at the care his demon was capable of.

After the play was over, all thoughts of proposing had left him as he went on an admittedly long ramble about the play. Crowley had said a few words here and there, but mostly it was Aziraphale going on a bit of chatter. By the time he became aware of himself once more, they were at the Ritz, and Crowley was holding the door open for him.

“The Ritz?” What was today? Was there something he’d done to be so thoroughly treated today? “My dear, is something up? This has been quite a treat so far, but if this is some kind of day, an anniversary or a holiday, or something like, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue.” He’d hate to have missed something Crowley found important.

“S’no anniversary Angel,” Crowley was still leaving something unsaid, Aziraphale could see it in his facial expressions and the way he was kicking the ground, “and it’s no holiday. I just, felt like taking you out and about.” He seemed to hunch in on himself slightly, “is it… too much? We could go back to the shop if you like.”

“Perish the thought!” Well, he certainly wasn’t going to turn down such a lovely day, rounding it off with dinner at their favourite restraint seemed like a fitting end. And, now he finally was sure when he’d propose, following dessert. “Of course we’re eating here, though it is a little early for dinner.” Not that it mattered.

“Good,” Crowley smiled and led him to their usual table. The sommelier was already ready with a bottle of wine, which meant that Crowley had indeed prepared this ahead of time. “I imagine we’ll be here a while, Angel.” Crowley honest to goodness winked at him, as if he hadn’t blushed enough today from the onslaught of his demon’s doting.

“Oh?” He swallowed, taking his seat, “And why’s that, my dear?” He idly thanked the sommelier and took a sip of some chilled wine. It was a remarkable vintage; one he was sure hadn’t been in the Ritz’s repertoire before. “Oh,” he couldn’t help but let out with a pleased note, “this _is_ a lovely vintage. How much of this did you prepare? I’m feeling positively spoiled today.”

“I might have had a word or two with some of the staff here, arranged a couple things here and there,” Crowley said, ever dismissive. He somehow managed to take up quite a lot of room, scrawny arms and legs spreading everywhere. _Basking,_ Aziraphale thought idly. “Just felt like it is all, had a special menu prepared for us today.”

Aziraphale was curious now, if he’d truly prepared so much, then what if, “and if I had said I wanted to go back to the shop?” He had no intention of going home without Crowley, and the Ritz was quite romantic a place to propose. Still, he had to know, and he even raised his eyebrow to prove it.

Crowley merely shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, “we would’ve gone back to the shop.” How attentive his silly serpent could be. It was obvious it would’ve been a big deal, at least to Crowley.

“Oh,” Aziraphale was saying that a lot today, Crowley surprising him wonderfully at every turn. He could feel his eyes watering as he smiled. “Well, no need for that, I am quite excited to get to this special menu.” His cheeks were heating once more, and he couldn’t help the slight wiggle in his seat.

As if called, a waiter appeared with the first course. It was oysters? How odd. He didn’t really care much for oysters these days, oh well, he’d likely enjoy them as Crowley knew his tastes rather well. He dipped the first shell back into his mouth and nearly choked. It was—!

He looked at Crowley and asked, “is this…?” It couldn’t be. Yet Crowley smiled and nodded. He had to try another, and as soon as that was gone, another. Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. Before he even realized it, they were all gone, and it was just a pile of empty shells. He was still thrown for a loop when he asked, “how?”

“I had asked for the recipe, back in… oh, 41 was it?” Which didn’t make any sense as Crowley didn’t like oysters. Even back then, had he asked for the recipe for Aziraphale’s sake?

“Yes, 41 AD,” he smiled softly, eyes watering once more. “You never did care for them, did you?” He laughed; Crowley had made the most disgusted face. It was only the nature of a serpent that saved the oyster from being spit right back up.

“Sssslimy,” Crowley hissed, making Aziraphale laugh all that much harder. Soon they were talking about Rome, arguing as to whether Nero had been sent above or down below and why. Aziraphale asked about Caligula, but the man was a brute and neither really wanted to talk about him. Crowley at least was quite sure he was in Hell.

The next course was set, and their wine glasses topped off generously. It was devilled eggs this time. A bit of an unusual choice, following shellfish. At least he didn’t have to worry about it souring his stomach. He wiggled in his seat and ate one, savouring the unique flavour of it. “You remembered my favourite food. Although, I suppose a devil like you would.”

“Course,” Crowley readily agreed, “a devilled egg, courtesy of a devil.” He winked, the cheeky snake! It was lucky he hadn’t been swallowing or he might’ve choked. He took his time, as he hadn’t really savoured the oysters previously, which was a deep shame, but he just couldn’t stop once he started.

This time between courses they talked about what they’d been up to lately. Aziraphale of course hid all the fluttering about his shop he did, worrying about proposing, and of course everything about the ring sitting in its tartan box in his pocket. Aziraphale loved discussing things with Crowley, the demon always had such interesting things to say.

The next course was the dessert course. Aziraphale was very excited for this, he couldn’t help but wiggle and adjust his sitting while the waiter brought out a small covered tray. He set it down directly in front of Aziraphale, as it was well-known after so many years, that Crowley rarely ate dessert, or maybe the demon had already told them it was for Aziraphale solely. He was surprised however, when in the middle of the tray, on a small plate, was an apple rose pastry.

Aziraphale didn’t eat apples. Or apple pastries. Or apple jams. He didn’t touch anything with apples in it. Crowley had certainly noticed, was this…?

“You don’t have to eat it, if you don’t want to,” Crowley, sweet Crowley, was already trying to soothe any upsets. “I know you don’t eat apples, and I suspect I know why, so if you don’t want to eat it, that’s fine.”

Aziraphale’s hands didn’t shake as he reached out and picked up the pastry. It might’ve been a minor miracle, but it felt quite major. “What did you say to Eve? When you tempted her with the apple?” It was a question that had haunted him for millennia, one he had forbidden himself from asking.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Crowley asked, always giving him an out if he needed it. Well, not this time. Not today.

“Yes,” Aziraphale was holding his breath, waiting for the answer, “please.”

Crowley took a deep breath, before explaining, “Eve thought that if she ate from the apple, that she would die. And I told her, ‘you will not die, for God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’”

His eyes had been opened several times thanks to Crowley, what was one more? “Eat from it and my eyes will be opened,” he mused, before taking a large bite out. His eyes didn’t open, but rather closed. Cinnamon and sugar really brought out the flavour and tartness of the apple, made sweeter and softer by baking. Had he really been holding himself back from such a harmless treat? He truly had been foolish.

Crowley clearly couldn’t believe Aziraphale had bitten from the apple, his words tempting Eve and now Aziraphale. Although, truly Aziraphale had been tempted by Crowley since the beginning, on that wall watching the first stumbling humans fight off a predator. If there ever was a perfect moment, this was probably it.

So, Aziraphale brought out the tartan box. Crowley’s eyes immediately went to it. “My dear, I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time. We’re on our own side now, as you’ve said, and I’d like to think that our side includes humanity and all that entails. Truth be told, I’ve been quite enamoured with you for nearly the entire time I’ve known you, and I suspect you feel quite similarly, so, if you do feel the same way, would you do me the honour, of marrying me? The human way?”

“No!” Crowley nearly shouted, startling him and _oh no, oh no, that’s not—_ “Wait! Angel, that’s not what I meant, yes, yes of course I’ll marry you,” Crowley quickly began rambling, red flush spreading from cheeks to cover his face and Aziraphale’s heart started beating once more. “I, I just,” he fumbled and pulled something out of his pocket, nearly dropping it before offering it to Aziraphale, it was a ring! “I was going to ask you, after dinner, I… I was going to take you to the Botanic Gardens and propose in the closest place I could find to Eden. I-I had this all planned out and you,” The flush spread up to his ears and down past his neck, “you beat me to it.”

Aziraphale’s heart had to have been beating faster than ever before, this whole time, this whole day, had been planned just with the intent of ending with a proposal. “Oh,” he said lamely, before the emotions all swamped him and he stood up and pulled Crowley into his arms, squeezing tightly as he dared. He jumped and flushed as the sounds of the patrons and nearly all of the staff began clapping and hollering. Aziraphale pulled back, just enough to slip the ring on Crowley’s thin finger. “If you like, we can still go, and you can propose to me just as you wished.”

“No, no, I,” Crowley was having a difficult time of it, staring at his finger before visibly shaking himself and reaching for the ring to place on Aziraphale’s much rounder fingers. “I think I’d rather go home-er, to the shop rather.”

“My dear, of course we can go home,” And of course it was Crowley’s home too, if he wanted it to be. Aziraphale brought his face close, hoping his intentions were clear, before he whispered, “I believe this is the part where you—”

He was cut off as Crowley surged forward, rewarding him with a kiss that had been in the waiting for several lifetimes.

_To the world._

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://positivepumpkin.tumblr.com/)!


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